A Loser's Touch
by Cryselephantine
Summary: Collection of Losers' drabbles and short one-shots. Mostly Jensen-centric. Movie and comic!verse. Lots of random f-bombs, may contain slash, and lots of cute military type guys :D
1. Who won't start none won't be none

**Fandom :** The Losers (movie!verse mostly)

**Title :** How Jensen Got Banished From Fort Bragg's Mess Hall (Or How Much Cream Did He Actually Get From That Cat?)

**Summary :** Jensen found Skippy's List and decided he wasn't going to be one upped by some random grunt. And then he watched Blackadder...

**Warning :** crack!fic ; slash CxJ if you squint real hard and tilt your head the right way ; Craziness ; Goes randomly from general POV to different characters because I get a kick out of it. Might be PG but mostly for f* bombs and the likes. Short stuff is short. OS.

**A/N :** Most of those drabbles are originally posted on my LJ under the screenname Lasgalenya. 

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><p>"I will not try to one up a fellow military personal with cat's spew and mustard"<p>

"I will not under any circumstance follow through with any plan concerning any Army personal and needing body fluids coming from any form of felines and edible food"

" I will not..."

Clay drowned down the voice of his coms techie and sighed heavily as his eyes turned back to where Cougar was leaning against their barrack, silently keeping vigil on their wayward prankster as he continued through his CAPE.

He had to resist smirking when Roque came back out, wiping his mouth and glaring openly at Jensen (who, while still continuing with his push ups, sent him his most brilliant smile... no fucking self preservation, that man...)  
>Pooch was the last to come out, still looking a little green but wearing a crooked grin that transformed into slight laugh when the next shout out from Jensen was "I will not be the better prankster and totally win the competition, sending two of my teammates straight to the porcelain god using cat's puke and condiments, even if that was a fucking win!"<p>

"Cougar..." Roque said, turning to the silent Mexican who just looked up at him from under his hat. "The next time that shitface bastard tries to do something out of some random army brat punkass website, do us all a favor and fucking shoot him, or I'll gut him!"

The sniper's eyes tightened, looking like he was smiling slightly despite the absence of change of his facial expression and he tipped his hat slightly before returning to his watcher task, a smirk blossoming on his face.

"Still man, I don't know about you, but I have to wonder... where the fuck did he get the puke, 'cuz the closest cat around is the General's daughter's kitten..." Pooch said with a shake of his head.

Clay made a disgusted sound before saying out loud, nearly in sync with his 2IC. "I don't wanna know"

~FIN~


	2. Raise Your Glass

_**Title :** Raise Your Glass  
><em>

_**Fandom :** The Losers (pre movie!verse)_

**Summary :** Just some R&R after a mission...

**Warning : **crack!fic, randomness, heavy drinking, f*** bombs left and right, Jensen's motor-mouth going faster than ever, drunk!Jensen, I need a life (or a laptop without internet...), slash CougarxJensen if you squint and tilt your head just right, PILLOW FIGHT! (not really, but you'll understand quickly enough xD), PG just to be safe.

**A/N : **So that's all cougar_catnip's fault really. And I've been listening to P!nk's "Raise Your Glass" on repeat for the last 40 minutes without even realizing until I started imagining Jensen dancing to it... 

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><strong>Raise Your Glass<strong>

Another mission accomplished and Jensen was fairly certain he'd heard the Colonel mutter something that sounded like "I love it when a plan comes together", that big closeted geek!

And now, thousands of miles away from home, surrounded by Green Berets and Rangers and being merry all around, the team was in for some R&R in a dingy bar off the main road near their base, with fellows like sire Jack Daniels, señores Cuervo and Pepe Lopez, and of course, gospodin Smirnoff.

Jensen had to stop himself from giggling behind his cocktail's umbrella (cocktail umbrellas are manly! fuck Roque, he was a big bucket of unfunny crazy with an obsession with knives anyway!) as he watched a couple of flyboys being hustled quick and hard by Roque and Clay. Dayum, those two could hustle a cane off a blind man.

Cougar was sitting next to him, sipping a beer and being his same old Cougar-y self while Pooch... well Pooch looked downright depressed, a bit further away, a picture (of Jolene, Jensen could imagine) clinged in his hand as he looked at it with the expression of a poor lonesome puppy pooch abandoned on a highway during high traffic.

After making sure that the floor had stopped dancing around, Jensen stood up from his seat, attracting a raised eyebrow from his silent feline typed friend. Sending his most beaming (and by now slightly drunken) smile to Cougar, the younger man walked decisively (and slightly unsteadily) to seat (or crash if you believed Cougar, but y'know it's always the silent ones, so don't believe a word out of that man's mouth, there's a reason he doesn't talk much, it's 'cuz it's all a lie anyway...) next to Pooch who looked up with a frown.

"Go away, Jensen, the Pooch wants some alone time, now leave the grown ups alone, okay?" The black man said with a glare.

"Oww man! I just thought I'd invite you to a game of mine!" Jensen replied, his alcohol-addled brain coming up with what seemed like the perfect plan to cheer up his friend.

"No! Now leave me alone!"

"So you can just wither away and die like some common man? Hell no! What happened to the Pooch I know! The Pooch is a man! The Pooch can drive anything!"

"Fuck you! The Pooch just misses Mrs Pooch!"

Jensen took a minute to process his friend's last retort and couldn't help the manly snicker (Jensen IS a badass, and badasses didn't GIGGLE! no matter what sober!Pooch said the next day!) that escaped him.

" 'Mrs Pooch' ? Really? Like, do you call her that 'cuz I'm totally emailing Jolene tomorrow to tell her you called her 'Mrs Pooch' !" He said before another bout of giggles (snickers! MANLY snickers!) took hold of him and he let his head fall against the counter.

A callused hand on his shoulder that definitely belonged to a certain Mexican sniper made him jump slightly before he sat up straight, raising his cocktail high.

" Now lemme raise my glass to my favorite losers!" He shouted, receiving laughs and a few cat-calls that definitely came from the pool table where Clay and Roque were still hustling the airforce guys out of house and home.

Turning sharply toward where he remembered they should be, Cougar's hand on his shoulder-blade, the only thing keeping him from falling on the side, he raised his glass again.

"To Roque and Clay! The infernal duo of kickass crazy people that keeps us from going on killing sprees!" He continued, still very loud (and so not drunk! no really!)

Turning again, this time to Pooch, nearly knocking half his drink on the other man, he put his arm around the other man, deaf to his feeble protest.

"Sshhh, Resistance is Futile, My Friend The Pooch!" He stage-whispered with another manly snicker. "To The Pooch! For getting our asses outta those fires all the time! And may you and Missuz Pooch have a lot of mini-Pooches!... woah that's a lot of Pooches..."

Keeping his arm around the designated driver of his team (the only reason why he didn't keel over and crashed on the floor), he turned again and nearly caught Cougar's eye with his straw, receiving a mighty Mexican glare for his arm's treason.

"To the almighty Sniper-God-Of-Silent-Badassness! Hail Thou!" He belted out, grinning like a (drunken) loon, when all Cougar did was roll his eyes and tip his hat with a smirk.

"And to the self-sanctified Hacker-God-of-all-things-Electronics (oooh yeah! that's me!), FUCK YEAH! I'M THE BEST!"

And then proceeded to get up (very unsteadily) and started dancing, his Long Island cocktail spilling everywhere. And what a dance, no matter what Roque or Pooch would say, he still maintained he danced like a fucking artist, not an epileptic puppy on LSD!

On the side, Clay looked on with amusement and a bit of dread as his hacker danced around like a loon, bumping against everyone as Cougar tried to get his arms around him to get him back to his seat.

Roque, who was standing next to him and muttering about 'stupid assholes' and 'crazy fuckers' was the first to realize that one of the Green Berets that was standing around (looking about as dunk as Jensen as it was), didn't seem to like how Jensen kept bumping into him, and spill his drink on him. He reacted swiftly when he saw the man pull back his fist to punch the blond hacker and tackled the man. Of course, the guy's friends decided to get involved around that moment and Clay and Pooch came to the rescue. Distantly, as he pulled himself out of the way of a thrown chair, Clay seemed to hear a yelled out "PILLOW FIGHT!" in a voice that sounded a lot like a certain blond communication expert he knew, but he was too busy dodging another fist to care much.

Half an hour later, walking away from yet another bar they were now all banned from, Clay (sporting a few new bruises on top of the ones from the mission) looked back at his men. Roque was ranting about moronic bastards while Pooch and Cougar helped a totally wasted Jensen (who'd finished everyone's drinks while they were fighting it would seem) walking as the man sang loudly.

"... CALL ME UP IF YOU WANT GANGSTA! DON'T GET FANCY JUST GET DANCY..."

"Really, man? Pink? Really? Fucking moron!" Roque bit out with a glare at the inebriated man.

"Owwww, why so serious, Roque-y Poo?" Jensen giggled.

"Oh that's it, I'mma cut you, man! I'mma gut you like a fucking pig!" Roque threatened, unsheathing one of his big honkin' knife from somewhere on himself.

"Cougaaaar, Roque is being mean!"

The half glaring, half smirking Mexican just rolled his eyes, as he reassured his grip on the blond whirlwind. Sometimes, it was just best to ride it out, like a very bad hangover... like the one Jensen was sure to have in the morning...

**_~FIN~_**

"gospodin" from what google tells me, is the phonetic transcription for the equivalent of "mister" in Russian, of course Jensen speaks Russian, don't all communication experts in a super secret Ranger team do too?. |D


	3. In Which Things Happen

**Title :** In Which Things Happen  
><strong>Fandom : <strong>The Losers  
><strong>Disclaimer :<strong> Non of this is mine, if it was, I'd have made Aisha a slash-fan squeeling after the CougarxJensen romance and Roque would have never betrayed anyone and Clay wouldn't have been so blinded by revenge and boobs that he'd lead his men to slaughter. Oh and COUGAR WOULD HAVE NEVER DIED! DX  
><strong>Summary :<strong> In which Roque is bewildered, Clay is ready to throw the towel, Pooch is not amused, Jensen thinks naughty thoughts and Cougar is... well... cougar-y...  
><strong>Warnings :<strong> PG for safety. random f-bombs here and there. clear slashy thoughts from a certain blonde techie. and yes slashy my dear friends is about the interlocking parts that take place at the back not the front, and with both (or several, I'm not judging) partners sharing similar tastes and parts down THERE :O Oh and beware, I love innuendos, and I'm in an innuendo mood! *evil cackle*

**A/N :** I hope you'll permit the artistic license for the boys ages, I can't seem to be bothered to remember the right ages |D

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><p>Cougar grunted slightly as the strain in his legs started to take its toll. Letting out a slow breath, he continued anyway, the movement of his hips sending distress signal to his brain but he couldn't stop now, it was still too soon, and he needed just a bit more before the slow, languid torture could end. Fuck Jensen, this was all his fault anyway, him and his stupid ideas. <em>¡Estupido parlanchín! <em>

Roque's eyes went back and forth from his commanding officer to their sniper, feeling slightly awed against his will. An hour and a fucking half, they'd been at it and neither man seem to be ready to stop now. And the growing number of witnesses and gawkers just seem to make them steady on even more.

The Pooch was not happy, not at all. At the rate those two were going, he was going to lose all the money he'd bet with Jensen. And da-yum but those two sure knew how to put on a show! Of course, he'd known that Clay would be like that but most of the time, their sniper was so silent and unassuming, but here he was, baring his teeth at the older man, his face contorting in an expression of pain and determination to see this through. Even the hat had fallen off his head some times ago, leaving his long black tresses free as some stuck to his face from the sweat pouring out of every pore.

Clay was feeling all of his 39 years of life, and it was really painfully old right now, compared to Cougar's 26. His hips and abs were killing him and his legs were trembling under the strain, but he kept on, just a little bit more and his overly abused muscles could rest. If only Cougar could just let it go already.

Jensen was trying. He was trying really hard not to think about how Cougar's hair was sticking to his jaw and neck. Trying not to think about the slow bobbing of the Mexican's adam's apple as the sniper threw his head back with a hiss of discomfort at an aborted movement. Or the way his hips and abs strained to stay in position as Clay's wavered and stuttered to a stop. Yes he'd been the one to give the two bored soldiers an outlet to their boredom in their overly competitive mindset, but it wasn't supposed to be that sexy or that hard to look away from!

Another half hour passed as everyone crowding the two men made bets on who would give in first when suddenly a clamouring noise was heard, half-joyous, victorious even, half-disappointed. Jensen could be heard claiming to any who'd hear that he knew his Cougs would win, it was only normal for the SuperDuperMegaAwesome-Sniper-Of-Doom (no offense, Clay but you know I'm right!). Receiving laughs and incredulous stares. Clay was looking at his men with a slight amused smile, shaking his head fondly at his techie before ordering Roque to help him up, his legs feeling like jelly.

-_ "¡Oida-me!, estupido parlanchín, ¡es la ultima vez que me haces competir para ti!, ¿entiendes?"_ Cougar hissed as the comms expert hoisted him up and dragged him toward their temporary campment, his legs supporting him just enough to leave him some decency.

- "Ah c'mon Cougs, you know you liked beating the Colonel!" Jensen replied with a dashing smile, trying not to think about how the other man's sweat-covered body was positively draped over his, held flushed against his side.

- "Those abs exercises are a killer, Jensen, look at my man Cougs, he can't even stand alone..." The Pooch added his two cents." Although, nearly 3 hours without letting his legs down, the Colonel isn't all that rusty either!"

- "Thanks Pooch, appreciated!" Clay retorted wrily as Roque tried not to laugh at him.

An hour later and many inventive invectives from the CO and the sniper, every Loser was in the barrack, getting once again bored out of their minds.

- "Well, all in all, it was a rather productive afternoon, wasn't it!" Jensen smiled at his teammates, ignoring the obvious glares from Pooch (who had lost 50$ to him) and Clay (whose abs still screamed in pain any time he tried to sit up to quickly).

- "SHUT UP JENSEN!" Both men said in perfect sync.

Jensen fake sighed and sat at the foot of Cougar's bed, where the sniper was currently asleep (or trying to hide behind his cowboy hat, who knew).

- "At least you're not angry with me, right Cougs?" He said with a small pout, before an evil grin flashed on his face and disappeared just as quickly and he poked at the other man's stomach.

Jensen just had time to yelp before the other man threw himself at him and got him in a headlock.

- "ACK! COUGAR! BE GENTLE!"

_**FIN**_

_¡Oida-me!, estupido parlanchín, ¡es la ultima vez que me haces competir para ti!, ¿entiendes? - _Listen to me, you stupid chatterbox, it's the last time you make me compete for you, got it?


End file.
